


Weakness

by theelderfish



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Graphic Depictions of Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelderfish/pseuds/theelderfish
Summary: Being gentle is weak, but Nocturnal whispers against a pointed ear gently, "It's not your fault."In which a Daedra discovers her weakness.





	Weakness

“Stop it,” Nocturnal snaps into the silence, “Stop.”

Ophelia’s shoulders curl forward, she’s shaking and hasn’t stopped shaking since it happened. There’s blood on the sheets, thicker than sleet, and obscuring the perfect silver. Nocturnal watches her shake for a minute longer and feels foolish, more foolish than the mer crying over it. Nocturnal’s throat works, “It is time to be done with this.”

She cringes at her own tone, flat and unbothered, and when Ophelia sobs Nocturnal wants to shake her back into herself. “You wouldn’t have wanted it anyway,” Her nose crinkles, from her own desperation and disgust, even as she lightens her tone, “Lay it to rest.”

It’s more Nocturnal than Ophelia and is never going to change. Nocturnal is having none of it when Ophelia tightens her hold on the bundle of blankets. Her nails dig into Ophelia’s shoulder like a claw, wrenching her onto her back. Ophelia is a _mess_ , eyes splotchy, lip bleeding and nose running freely.

If things were normal, and Ophelia was not a mess of mortal fluids, she would hook her arms around Nocturnal and draw her down. If things were normal, she would not look away from Nocturnal’s gaze and onto the still bundle. If things were normal, Nocturnal would not feel the twist in her chest from the ragged whimper that she pulls from Ophelia’s throat with the action.

But things aren’t normal, and her strong, fierce Dragonborn is reduced to a whimpering mess. Ophelia is more worried about the half-bird thing that choked on its first breath. It looks like a miniature Wraith and Ophelia can’t stop herself from loving it. Nocturnal rushes through all their previous interactions, trying to find some semblance of conversation that with snap Ophelia out of this funk.

“It’s my fault.”

Nocturnal starts, realising the warmth on her hands are tears. Ophelia is crying and she is sitting on the ruined bed like a fool and not helping her stem them- “It’s my fault he’s dead.” Nocturnal hates the way her heart twists.

Being gentle is weak, but Nocturnal whispers against a pointed ear gently, cradling Ophelia’s face delicately, “It’s not your fault.”

Nocturnal is disgusted by her obviousness, more than the trickle of sharp blood across her thigh, when she pulls Ophelia into an embrace. Yet, Ophelia has never felt so small in her arms than that moment, face buried into her shoulder. Nocturnal decides that the discomfort is worth it, for today. 


End file.
